The only kind of movie you can walk into late and still enjoy is porn.

Cousin Jamie and I bussed down from León-- connecting in Managua where I enjoyed another grease feast near the Mercado Roberto Huembes at my favorite fritanga -- to Rivas, transferring to the volcano-bookended Isla de Ometepe via a ferry that careened back and forth to the point we could see our terrified expressions reflected, distorted even more grotesquely, in the choppy waters. Sometime between the broken down bus that carried us to Altagracia, the several gigantic fish and plantain feasts near the Finca Magdalena in Balgue, and the twelve-hour ferry debacle that wasted an entire day of our lives before stranding us on the island for another night, Jamie suggested: "If we get bored we should rape people." (OK, so I'm actually the crude creature who twisted the suggestion that we "rate" people into aforementioned perversion. Despite spending two weeks with her corrupting cousin, Jamie remains a thoughtful, tactful, entirely respectable human.) Not much else happens on Ometepe unless one is motivated to climb a volcano. I was content to read and walk off the finca in search of better, cheaper meals. And groan about the beds, tarps spread and secured tautly between planks of wood; Jamie informed me these torture contraptions aren't called the "worst fucking sleeping idea ever", but rather cots.

Jamie departed Granada -- the vibrant and gorgeous city that marries the grittiness and bustle of León with the grand colonial architecture of Antigua, Guatemala, all bathed in buckets of bright paint -- this morning after our two-week co-exploration of Nicaragua. Sharing rooms and sometimes even double beds, I've only been able to touch my private parts in the company of shared toilets and waste baskets overflowing with soiled, unflushable tissue paper. And could one even revive their shriveled and wilted baby carrot -- would you roll it between the thumb and index finger? -- cold showers are just too damn cold for an enjoyable crotch yank.

Suddenly with private time and I've booked myself into another cheap, cold water-spigoted hostel dormitory. What the hell? Distracted by the prospects of being able to watch Duke and UNC square off this afternoon, I suppose.